jetlowry
"Yes, but what does that mean for us?" I asked into my cell. Listening to his voice I watched the cars pass by outside my window. I could see the coldness of the dark night, the rain that hadn't fallen for weeks suddenly fell down like bullets. Just a moment ago the cars had been driving towards their loved ones. I sat down on my bed, still listening to his excuses. His sweater still lay on my bed end, the light blue of the sky this morning. Then he hung up, and my tears poured down with the rain.
I picked up a clean sheet of paper, then I began to play. The sound it produced was raw and incoherent, but somewhere in it my soul was singing with the piano. Without the dillution of other voices than my own. And then I knew, that there was room in the world for my voice too.
I curl the paper up and throw it away, among the hundreds of thousands of papers already in the pile. I take a new sheet, sketch the premises of a new drawing. Lovers in the rain. But it's not beautiful, and so their story fades into the trash pile with the rest, as if it has never existed.
The pattern was always the same with us. I watched your bare back while you pulled your shirt on. Always your back, you always left. Or maybe I was the one keeping you at a distance, I wasn't sure. But it was our crossing paths, a shared moment. Moments that were short at logical intervals, but hot. Flannel always is, sometimes I wish we could be the threads weaved together instead. I watched your smiling eyes and laughed, "Lets interweave."
The small messages felt within the rays. It pushes forward with the gentle breeze, reaching out for me. Nurtures me, so that one day I might reach out, so that it won't be alone in the sky any more. Illuminates our shades of greens, where we are gathered. Life.
writing since 2010 · 5 entries · 4 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Jet showed up.
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the words Jet reaches for
watchedrainskymomentpaperpilesheetvoicelisteningcarsbedmessagesrayspushesforwardgentle